'Electric Ladyland' should have been the dawn of a new age. Instead, it would up being more of a last will and testament. Nobody knew it at the time, least of all Jimi Hendrix. It is a towering achievement, but it came at a steep price. There was creative freedom, but now there was financial servitude and sky high expectations.
Hendrix was a dirt poor kid raise in Seattle, Washington, a town where African Americans were outnumbered not only by whites, but Asians and American Indians as well. Jimi had some Indian, too, from his mother's side. She had been a wild child, a party girl, an absentee parent. His father raised him and his brother once things settled after the war.
Jimi didn't see himself as particularly black. It was a multi-ethnic neighborhood, with multi-ethnic schools. His first real exposure to Black culture was in the Army, stationed in the South. Joining various pickup groups, he played rock' n roll mostly, 1950s stuff, like he did in his high school bands. Getting out of the service, he decided to bum around looking for jobs as a musician.
It wasn't easy, but he had lots of talent. Jimi's first claim to fame, small as it was, came in being able to copy the guitar stylings of Curtis Mayfield, the master soul man from Chicago, leader and writer for the Impressions. Mayfield learned how to play on his own, using strange tuning, creating strange licks that no one on the Chitlin Circuit could play. Then Hendrix came along, playing the guitar upside down, and figured it out. It meant steady if varied employment.
Jimi acted like a transient because largely he was one. There was never a guarantee that he would show up to a gig with a guitar. Getting fired at random was typical, as was not getting paid. The list of people he played under is legendary. In the end, settling in the New York City area, he hooked up with Curtis Knight and the Squires. At least with them there was the freedom to play what he wanted and to do it flashy. This is where the whole playing-with-your-teeth, behind-your-back, over-your-head things was perfected, Jimi copping every trick from the Circuit, making it his own.
There was also opportunities to go into the studio. Unfortunately, Ed Chalpin was there to sign Hendrix to a long term contract, one of many, but the one that would come back to haunt. Curtis Knight was second rate, as was the band, but it was a steady gig. Jim settled in Harlem with a girlfriend, setting his sights on Greenwich Village. It was the place where Bob Dylan made his reputation.
It was highly unusual for a black man to be a Dylan freak back in 1965, another sign of how different Hendrix saw himself. The popular misconception, sold by the Hendrix Estate, is that Jimi was a Blues man. He could certainly play the Blues, but Jimi came from a solid R & B background, exactly the sort of music that was evaporating between the growing worlds of soul, funk, and rock. When Chas Chandler brought Jimi over to England, that country had moved past the first Blues revival and was deeply infatuated with soul and R & B. That was the market Hendrix was supposed to aim for.
Before he got there, there was six scruffy months in around the Village, scrounging for work. Jimmy James & the Blue Flames, where the 16-year-old Randy California reportedly played lead guitar (!). Pickup gigs with John Hammond, Jr., son of the famed record talent scout, the man who discovered everyone from Bessie Smith to Stevie Ray Vaughn. Rich white girlfriends, Linda Keith in particular, who introduced Jimi to Chas, setting him on the path to stardom.
Once in England, after running out of money and signing a deal with the devil, otherwise known as Michael Jeffries, Chas found that he had considerably more on his hands. Finally in charge, given free range, encouraged to start writing songs, the material that emerged from Hendrix was completely unique, seemingly from another planet. Other guitar players had been loud. Jimi turned volume into an art form.
The first Experience album is a masterpiece, the best thing Hendrix ever did, at least in the American edition, which collected early singles and jettisoned some of the lesser R & B tracks. 'Axis: Bold As Love' broadened the pallet, adding more ballads, such as the exquisite 'Little Wing' and 'Castles Made of Sand', as well as magnificent weirdness, like 'If 6 Were 9' and 'Bold as Love'. Cracks started on that album, with Jimi forgetting the master tape in the back of a cab, too stoned to care. Chas was old school, getting his star into a studio to bang product out fast.
Hendrix had other ideas. We'll never know exactly how much the drugs saturating the music scene had to do with Jimi's ever expanding concepts. It doesn't matter now. What matters is that he actually achieved some of these revolutionary ideas, although getting there wasn't easy. 'Electric Ladyland ' did not happen without major drama behind the scenes.
It wasn't just Chas, tired of all the takes and the hangers-on filling the control room. There was a struggle for control that Jimi was going to win. Noel Redding also lost, more in line with Chas's quick method than Hendrix's exploratory jamming and writing in the studio. Chas left half way through, and it's easy to spot which songs he produced. Noel didn't play on most of the album, too bored to sit around for days as Jimi farted around.
Recording was endless and everywhere until Hendrix found a sympathetic engineer in America, where he was desperate to set up base, another cause of conflict with management. Gary Kellgren had just finished working with Frank Zappa on 'We're Only In It For The Money' and the remix of 'Lumpy Gravy'; after that experience, he was ready for anything. Eddie Kramer emigrated to America at the same time, providing two engineers for round-the-clock support. He'd need it.
Despite the fact that Mike Jeffries had the Experience on the road perpetually in 1968, a huge amount of recording was done. Sometimes special guests were in the studio, such as Al Kooper or Buddy Miles. Usually it was just Jimi and Mitch, trying to get a groove to gel as the song structures became more intricate. Fortunately Mitch had a jazz background and was up to the task.
Listening to the new box set of 'Electric Ladyland' is both exciting and disappointing. I'm going to love the 5.1 mix no matter what, but the single CD of outtakes, while revealing many facets. only scratches the surface of what was recorded for the project. Unfortunately, when Hendrix died, much of that material was released scatter shot, first by Jeffries, then by Alan Douglas. The Hendrix estate continued that trend, making this box set, 50 years after the fact, the first time where outtakes have been collected according to when they were recorded.
The disc of the Hollywood Bowl concert is almost embarrassingly low fi, with only one song from the album in question. The only interesting thing is the between song chatter. The crowd was wild, diving into the big reflecting pool in front of the band. Understandably, Jim keeps trying to calm things down, then immediately ripping into something incendiary like 'I Don't Live Today'. If you want to hear the Experience live around this time, the "Winterland' box set is infinitely better.
The single disc of outtakes are a mixed bag. The demos are nice, but more important historically than a pleasant listening experience. Other demos have been released before, a couple of times. It's nice to hear how well developed '1983 (A Merman I Should Turn to Be)' is, even in the earliest stages. We get two more takes, the first band tryout in March called 'Angel Caterina', then an alternate take. What sounds like a spontaneous jam was actually carefully thought out in Jimi's head. It is impressive how much the demo's structure is followed in the final version.
What the package needs is another disc collecting many of the songs recorded around this time but abandoned, only to be released piece meal over the years. Having them together in one place would have been instructive. Songs such as the earlier, superior version of 'Angel', 'Look Over Yonder', 'Tax Free', 'Cat Talking To Me', 'Dream', 'Cherokee Mist', 'There Ain't Nothing Wrong' and many more, as well as more outtakes, such as an alternate version of the slow blues version of 'Voodoo Chile'. More infuriating, they talk about 'South Saturn Delta', Jimi's experiment with horns done during this time period, then don't include a version. What the...?
Without a definitive sessionography - and frankly, I don't trust John McDermott's books because of his links to the Hendrix Estate, which is busy trying to tidy up Jimi's persona - it's hard to know exactly what was done when. Hendrix was changing his recording methodology during the 'Electric Ladyland' sessions, jamming more, trying to be spontaneous in the studio. It was a long process, not often successful, one that Hendrix stuck to for the rest of his short life. That's why the last two years have so many fragmented, meandering, and often outright half-baked pieces floating around.
What he did get down on 'Electric Ladyland' was spectacularly groundbreaking. Not only could Jimi make the sound of his guitar malleable and plastic, he could do it to any sound available. There is a sonic quality to parts of the album - the later parts that he recorded after Chas left - that are exquisite, with just a touch of delay, where you can hear the sound bouncing off the walls in the room. Ending with the one-two punch of 'All Along the Watchtower' and 'Voodoo Child (Slight Return)' makes this slab of double vinyl the Mount Olympus of heavy psychedelia.
Of course it is excessive; everything Hendrix ever did was based on excess, including his clothing, the volume at which he played, his sex life, and his drug intake. The next two years were spent chasing the muse with only patchy success. There were high points; Woodstock, the Band of Gypsys, Berkeley. There was also a lot of treading water, false starts, dead ends. Jimi wasn't his own best producer, too indulgent. Eddie Kramer was an enabler more than a guide. What was needed was a strong hand to keep him on track.
Mike Jeffries wasn't that guy. He kept Jimi stoned, in debt, and on the road. He wanted the Experience back and almost got it in January 1970. Billy Cox was an infinitely better bass player, happy to support Hendrix, without ego. There was the dream of Electric Lady Studios, completed just as Jimi left for his last European tour. It turned into a nightmare and he didn't survive it.
Just how much material did Hendrix leave for his last unfinished album? It's the great mystery, along with where his massive talent came from. It was planned as another double album, but only three sides were ever sketched in, and that was pretty tentative. Recording for the follow up to 'Electric Ladyland' started the month it was released, October 1968. There were frequent sessions as well as copious amounts of jamming recorded. The Band of Gypsys was a great distraction in the middle. It did appear that the project as gaining focus, but it was too little too late.
Mike Jeffries talked Eddie Kramer and Mitch Mitchell into producing a few posthumous albums, cherry picking from the large amount of tracks floating around. There would be a constant unearthing of undiscovered material as the years went by, especially after Jeffries' death in 1974. Allan Douglas made the fatal mistake of adding overdubs to Jimi's music in 1975, even though Chas Chandler did the same thing in 1987 to little fanfare. At least Chas used the original Experience members.
The Hendrix Estate finally wrestled control of the Estate after decades, although all the initial wealth has been long lost in a maze of Caribbean and Central American dummy corporations. While that decision is fair and just, what Janie Hendrix, not a blood relative, had decided to do to Jimi's legacy hasn't always been smart. Trying to clean up the image of a guy who literally terrorized white America simply by existing doesn't help put Jimi's accomplishments in context. He was a giant, chopping down mountains with the side of his hand, doing things with both music and the guitar that millions have imitated but none have replicated.
The 'Electric Ladyland' box set is a nice step in the right direction. Perhaps in the future, they can start arranging his music in chronological order, trying to make sense of the various stages and groups that he went through. This would be essential after this album, if you want to make sense of his vast but still unorganized recorded output. Let the listeners decide what is good or bad. this material is too precious to be left to professionals.
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